


And Promises to Keep

by a_mere_trifle



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: AU, Darkfic, Gen, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mere_trifle/pseuds/a_mere_trifle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(for the PL fan meme. prompt: Anton is a *real* vampire.)</p><p>Even after all the effort he'd put into breaking the man, Layton was still... awfully <i>gentlemanly.</i> He'd watched him drain the life out of dozens, hundreds of people, and yet-- he had become good at it, quick and fierce and even remorseless, but-- he still did not seem entirely <i>reconciled</i> to it, even after all these years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Promises to Keep

So I was walking along this morning, minding my own business, when suddenly this story jumped me, beat me up, and stole my wallet. I hope the little delinquent won't be too much trouble to you. ^^;

(PG/PG-13; slightly slashy in the middle)

(~)

(of the night)

(~)

The streets of the city were cold and dark tonight, which suited Anton just fine. It might whittle down the menu, but it also reduced the chance of witnesses-- and besides, it just seemed fitting. Proper. Somehow, he never had lost his sense of propriety.

"Sir..." said his lieutenant. "Invigourating as a night's exercise can be, have we a destination in mind?"

"We are _hunting_ , Layton," he reminded him. "There is not exactly an exact itinerary. Else it would not be a hunt."

"Ah," said Layton. "I hadn't realized."

Of course he hadn't. Even after all the effort he'd put into breaking the man, Layton was still... awfully _gentlemanly._ He'd watched him drain the life out of dozens, hundreds of people, and yet-- he had become good at it, quick and fierce and even remorseless, but-- he still did not seem entirely _reconciled_ to it, even after all these years.

Maybe it had been a mistake, to make him kill the apprentice first. He hadn't had any other meals available, and it certainly had shut the man up. But... he wasn't likely to completely forget it anytime soon, and vampires did not forgive.

But that was all right. A vampire couldn't kill his sire, and they had all the time in the world.

He pulled his cloak a little more tightly around him, as if the cold had power over him. There were always the ladies of the night, always-- but that was almost too easy, really, and when Layton wasn't whinging that their lives were hard enough already, he was complaining that it was _horribly_ cliché. The second point, he had to admit, had some validity to it. The first was ridiculous. Whores deserved whatever they got.

No. He didn't want to deal with women tonight. There were men enough on these streets, even in this bitter cold-- thugs and wrecks and fools. One bundled-up stick of a man, in an enormous, worn black coat-- barely enough even for one, and though he knew Layton would protest that he wasn't hungry after last night, Anton had no intention of indulging him this time. He was a vampire: the sooner the stuffy old fool learned to properly enjoy that, the happier they'd both be.

A couple of workingmen stumbled out of a bar; ah, now that was much more promising. Drunk enough to pose no threat, sober enough to pose a challenge, big enough to be a most satisfying meal.

"Those," he said, nudging Layton with his elbow. "You bear left; I'll go right."

"Yes, sir," said Layton, with a very faint sigh.

After all these years of hunting together, no further elaboration was necessary; they separated gracefully, flanking the drunken fools in a well-correographed routine. Layton "accidentally" stumbled into them, knocking them off-balance; Anton "assisted" them into the nearest alleyway. It always amused him how they actually would start to thank him, before looking toward the street and realizing Layton's relatively imposing figure was blocking the way.

Then they would look back to him, usually still foolish enough to believe he was on their side-- only to see his mouth split wide in a grin, fangs glistening in whatever light there was. And then-- then-- whether or not they ever got around to believing, they would begin to understand.

That was his favourite moment. Better even than the blood. To be feared... to be respected. To have power-- and to use it.

He stepped closer to the drunken louts, grinning as they stumbled backward, clinging to each other, tripping each other up. He could taste their fear, drunk now himself with the power, safe with Layton's unfailing (if half-willing) solid presence at his back--

\--surprisingly close at his back, and not Layton at all, because he could look down and see an inch of dark wood protruding from his chest, and a vampire could not kill his sire.

"Die, you son of a bitch," an unfamiliar voice hissed in his ear. He was shoved forward, stumbling into a trio of garbage cans, and he would've been affronted at the indignity of it if he hadn't been able to feel inself beginning to dissolve into dust, body and-- self. There was almost a horrified fascination to it, even as he couldn't quite believe it was happening yet, far too fast-- and shouldn't _that_ be a familiar feeling by now? Hadn't he caused it often enough?

Footsteps behing him: his attacker turning to face Layton. Layton was fast, he could run, he could still escape with a vampire's speed--

"Luke," said Layton, voice warm and heavy with relief. "You did it."

 _Luke?_ Anton thought, too far gone to really understand.

The unfamiliar voice laughed, weakly, painfully. "A gentleman always keeps his promises," it said.

 _Betrayed_ , Anton thought. _Betrayed._

And then he was gone.

(~)

(with all he is, and all he was)

(~)

 _Still alive,_ Layton thought, dizzy with relief. _He's still alive._

He'd hoped so, but there had been no way to be sure. He'd cut it so close, unable to stop himself... oh, god, he could still remember it, the boy gone limp and cool in his arms, breathing ragged and shallow-- he'd never been so terrified. Anton had thought to break him, and Layton knew he had succeeded. After that murder, no other seemed beneath him anymore.

But not a murder after all. Someone _had_ found him in time. The prayer he'd kept in his heart for twelve long years was answered.

There was no other wish the world could possibly grant him.

Luke was staring at him, breathing heavily, eyes bright and far too wide-- the boy had grown into a stick, and he was too old to be so gangly. And that worn old coat, miles too big for him--

"Haven't you been eating?" he found himself reproving. "You look a wreck, my boy. You must take care of yourself."

Luke laughed again, a distressingly shaky sound, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a hand that held a dark wooden stake. "Oh, god," he said. "You haven't changed a bit."

"The essence of vampirism, I'm afraid," said Layton, with a soft smile. "Though I suspect I've changed more than you realize."

"I know..." Luke raised the stake, resting the point lightly above Layton's heart. Layton-- waited.

"...I've been tracking you, you know," he said, still not moving, staring at the tip of the stake. "It wasn't hard. It was quite a distinctive pattern... two attacked, one dead, one barely alive and speaking nonsense about darkness and blood and creatures that don't exist. You could've lit your way with neon arrows and it wouldn't have been more plain."

"I didn't always leave them alive," said Layton.

"I know."

"In Cardiff--"

"Don't even try that one. I talked to Susie. I know what that thing was. You could have torn him apart and it wouldn't have been justice. If you're trying to shock me with your brutality--" Luke's hand trembled. "You're not picking very good examples."

"I killed _you_ ," Layton pointed out.

"That's just the thing. You _didn't_." Now Luke's voice was shaking too. "I could see how you fought it, I could see what it cost you, and even now--"

Luke's hand dropped to his side, as he began to shake in earnest. "Professor--"

"I'm not your Professor."

"But you _are_. And I know I promised, but I-- I _can't_." Luke swallowed hard-- and threw himself into Layton's arms, beginning to sob. "Professor--"

"I know," Layton sighed, his arms coming up to hold Luke even though he knew he should resist the temptation. He'd played this so very badly. "I shouldn't have asked it of you."

"I've missed you so much."

"It was unforgivably selfish of me. But I'm stronger now. It's all right." Layton closed his eyes, giving in. Strange, to feel Luke so skinny and strong and tall-- nearly as tall as him, ducking down to bury his head in Layton's shoulder, but holding him just as tight or tighter than he ever had as a boy.

 _You could have him,_ the darkness whispered. _It would be easy. He wants it. He'd follow you anywhere, already has. Just a word, and you could protect him forever, you'd never have to leave him alone again..._

He shivered. The darkness had got so much _wilier_ now.

But he'd lived with it long enough to know its tricks.

What he did not know, what he did not expect, was for Luke to look up, wrap his arms around his neck, and press their lips together with unyielding ferocity.

 _Oh, dear,_ he thought, alarmed-- then suddenly, everything slotted into place, the familiar click of a puzzle coming together in his mind. The solution, perfect and bright and clear.

Layton pulled Luke closer-- and let himself kiss back.

(~)

(and who but you would let me in)

(~)

Luke didn't like being cold. It reminded him too much of the night everything had gone wrong. A glittering ballroom, Duke Anton pulling the Professor into his arms in a cruel parody of a waltz-- dancing him around a few steps, whispering something into his ear, before smiling, baring what were irrevocably fangs, and plunging them savagely into the Professor's neck.

The Professor had let out a strangled scream, arching backward, trying fruitlessly to push the Duke away. That sound still came back to haunt him at the oddest moments, and he knew it always would.

He'd screamed nearly as loudly himself, backing against the cold wall, praying it was a dream, praying to wake up. He kept screaming as the professor slowly stopped struggling, going limp and deathly pale in the Duke's arms.

The Duke had looked up, eyes bright, smiling at him, the Professor's blood still wet around his lips. He could see it even now, it he only closed his eyes.

And then he must have fainted, because the next thing he remembered was waking up on a cold stone floor, hands tied behind his back.

For a second, he hadn't even wanted to get up; what was the point? With the Professor gone-- and Anton--

It was the thought of Duke Anton that jolted him into sitting up, eyes darting around the room. If he were here, waiting--

But the Duke wasn't there; even in the dimness and shadows of the room, he could tell that. all that was here were barrels, and a low table, and crates-- but what was that in the corner? Something big and rounded-- maybe it was just the light, but it looked like it was shaking, and was that-- a _hat_?

"Professor!" Luke cried, launching himself across the room.

"No!" the Professor cried, sharp and high, and Luke stopped, only a few feet away. It wasn't just the light: the Professor _was_ shaking, violently, curled into a ball like a kitten or a child.

"Professor?" Luke whispered.

"Luke," said the Professor, voice tightly controlled, and shaking anyway. "You have to get out of here."

"...What?"

"You have to get out of here, _now_." The Professor looked up. His eyes glittered darkly in the dim light, his skin still as pale as death.

"Oh," whispered Luke. "Oh, no."

"There's got to be a way out of here," said the Professor. "Every puzzle has a solution, Luke. But we don't have much time."

Unsteadily, Luke got to his feet. The door was solidly made, the hinges recessed, the knob firmly locked; Luke stumbled over to the far wall, with no idea what he was looking for. Maybe a crack in the stones? "Professor-- what about you--?"

"I'll be fine," he managed. "Once you leave."

"You're lying."

"Luke, you don't understand," said the Professor, voice muffled. "I-- I can't-- I'm a _vampire_ , Luke."

"I told you they exist."

"So you should know what that means," the Professor continued, resolute. "I can't-- if you stay much longer, I-- I'll hurt you, Luke, and that cannot be allowed. So you have to find the way out."

"But-- there's nothing here, I don't even know what to look for, why can't you help me?"

"Because if I move--" The hat dipped lower. "If I move, Luke, I don't think I'll stop moving. Not until I-- not until I--"

Luke swallowed. But-- it was the Professor. Even now, it was the _Professor_. He'd be dead by now if it wasn't.

"We'll get out of here," Luke said. "We both will."

" _Damn_ it, Luke--!" The Professor's fist swung out; the barrel it hit _shattered_ , iron ring bending, wood fracturing into shards. "You are not _listening_ to me! I will _kill_ you!"

"Then why haven't you yet?"

" _It's taking everything I have, Luke! And I can't hold back much longer!_ "

Luke swallowed. He knew it was true. He knew the Professor was right. But that didn't change the most important fact. "I can't find anything."

The Professor drew a shaky breath. "Then you'll have to kill me."

"What?!" Luke jumped backward. "No!"

"You have to," said the Professor, voice growing firmer, nodding at the broken barrel. "There's plenty of wood. I'll help. I'm sorry. I tried to do it myself, before you woke up, but somehow-- this _thing_ \-- it wouldn't let me. But I think I can help."

"Professor, _no_ ," Luke pleaded.

"You have to. It will be fine. I know you can do it."

" _With my hands tied behind my back?!_ "

"..." The Professor stared at him for a moment, stricken. Then he bent his head back down to his knees and cursed.

Luke was shaking himself now, as the truth began to sink in. But... it was getting clearer, now, what had to happen. And maybe because it was the Professor-- he just wasn't as scared as he knew he ought to be.

"You could... make me into one too," he said, quietly.

The Professor jerked backward, nearly hitting his head against the wall. "No! Don't even _say_ such a thing."

"But--"

The Professor scowled at him. "Even if it weren't a terrible, unthinkable idea, the fact would remain that I don't have the faintest idea how. So, _no_."

"You couldn't just do whatever he did?"

"I don't _know_ what he did. For which I am not precicely ungrateful. Do you?"

"...No," Luke admitted.

"You don't want this. You..." The Professor looked away. "You have to get out of here."

"It's all right," said Luke. "It really is. It's not your fault."

"If I just hadn't chased that damn _box_ \--"

"It killed Dr. Schrader. We had to find out what happened."

"No, we could have taken the hint and left well enough alone." The Professor slammed his fist into the floor. Luke suspected his hand would be bleeding pretty terribly by now if he'd had any blood left for it.

"Don't be ridiculous." Luke shook his head, stepping forward, slowly. "What kind of gentleman could have done that?"

"There's no such thing... stay _back_ , Luke." The Professor was actually crying, now, silently, too far gone to yell-- defeated, almost, and it wasn't a look Luke had ever seen on him before. That hurt him, cutting straight to his heart. Luke wasn't sure what he was feeling-- not quite afraid, which he knew he should be, just-- sad, and sure, and _old_ , somehow. Maybe acceptance? Maybe sorrow?

"There's no point in staying back," Luke said, walking closer. It was only a matter of time. Best to end all this suspense.

"I don't want to kill you!"

"Then don't," Luke suggested.

"I..." The Professor swallowed. "I don't know if I can."

Luke shrugged. "That's all right. I know you'll try your best."

"Luke, you-- you can't be serious."

"How else are we getting out of here?! You think the Duke will just let me walk out?! Even you couldn't fight him! What am _I_ supposed to do?! He's a vampire, there's no way I can just-- outrun him, or something! He's not letting me out of this castle!"

"Unless," said the Professor, catching on, his eyes bleak. "Unless he thinks you're dead."

"Exactly." Luke nodded decisively, relatively pleased with this new plan. "So. Don't kill me. Just come close."

"I.... I don't know if I... oh, oh hell." The Professor's tongue flicked across his lips as Luke knelt in front of him. "Luke... promise me. Promise me you'll live. Promise me you'll get out of here. Just run-- don't come back. Promise me."

Luke looked away. That one hurt-- but he was still a kid; he had no chance against Anton like this, he'd just argued that point himself. He'd have to learn, to grow, to come prepared next time.

"I promise," he said.

The Professor leaned forward, doing his best not to stare at Luke's neck, and partly succeeding. "And if you see me again..." he said. "You have to promise me you'll kill me."

"But--!"

" _Promise_ , Luke!"

"I..." Luke swallowed. He couldn't imagine ever being that strong. "I promise, Professor."

The Professor let out a soft sigh, slowly, slowly, leaning the rest of the way forward. "I'm so sorry, Luke," he whispered in his ear. "I'm so sorry for everything."

And the fangs slipped neatly, painlessly, into his neck.

Luke was surprised, actually, at how little it hurt, the Professor's scream still echoing through his mind; he just closed his eyes, wrapping an arm around the Professor's neck as the room grew colder around him.

He'd known, then, that he was safe. That vampire or not, this was still the Professor, who could not only not hurt a fly, but even had great difficulty in being anything less than obliging. His Professor, the gentleman, who could solve any puzzle in the world, make magic tricks and flying machines.

So when he woke up in a clean white room, starched white sheets stretched tight around him, he was the only one who wasn't surprised.

(~)

(that's how the light gets in)

(~)

The sun was bright in Luke's eyes. The sheets were tucked warmly around him; he had no reason to feel cold.

Even though his eyes were closed, the sun was bright enough to leave afterimages skittering across his vision. He disentangled an arm from the sheets, to shield his eyes from the sun.

And then he knew. Maybe some part of his mind had catalogued the signs in his sleep; maybe it was his years of practice at solving puzzles. But he knew, now, what he had missed.

 _I shouldn't have asked it of you,_ he'd said. _It was unforgivably selfish of me. But I'm stronger now._

Everything they'd said and done last night had been a distraction. And a stalling tactic. And a goodbye.

Slowly, unwillingly, Luke opened his eyes.

The curtains of the room were pulled wide open, flooding the room with sunlight, pale but sharp. The room's shabby armchair had been pulled up to face it, along with the side-table; there was a teapot and an empty cup and saucer beside it. The chair was empty, except for a dark pile of rumpled clothes, white dust that shone like glitter in the sunlight, and a slightly battered, utterly ridiculous old top hat.

"Idiot..." Luke muttered, closing his eyes against the sight. "If you were far enough gone to deserve to die, you could never have done it...!"

But... that was the Professor. A gentleman didn't live on the blood of others. A gentleman simply couldn't allow it.

"There's no such thing as a gentleman," Luke said, and turned his back to the sun.

(~)

When Flora opened the door, she knew.

The look in Luke's eyes would've been clue enough, both far more bitter and far more peaceful than before. But the real clue was the the hat that sat atop Luke's head, a perfect fit. That told her everything, past, present, and future.

"It's over?" she asked anyway.

Luke just nodded, looking weary as the world.

"The Duke-- he's dead?"

"Killed it myself."

Flora wasn't sure he should really be called "it", but she wasn't in any position to argue. "And... the Professor...?"

Luke looked away. "I promised, but... I couldn't."

"So..." Flora said, very quietly. "He did it himself, didn't he?"

"...Yeah." Luke stared at the floor.

Flora exhaled. "...I thought he might."

"Well, you might have warned me!" Luke scowled, finally stomping inside.

"I didn't know any more than you did. But... you know he couldn't live like that."

"Which is why he deserved to."

"Which is why he will." Flora tugged at the brim of the Professor's-- of Luke's hat, pointedly.

"..." Luke laughed a little; it was bitter, but it was still a laugh. "Guilty as charged... but... it isn't _fair_ , Flora."

"Then we have to make it fair," she said. "Then we have to be what he was to us."

"...Yeah," he said. "I promised, after all." He raised his sleeve to his eyes for a few moments; she pretended not to notice.

"...So you'll stay, then," she said, when he lowered his arm, taking a deep breath.

"I should at least attempt to pass my classes, shouldn't I?" It was a halfhearted joke, but it was a joke.

"You've managed so far, when you were vampire-hunting half-time..."

"True," he admitted.

"And now that you won't need to conceal so many weapons, will you _please_ let me get rid of that coat?!"

"All right, all right! Next you're going to try to _feed_ me, aren't you?"

"Well, you do bear a striking resembelance to a stick insect..."

"But _your_ cooking isn't likely to help..."

"Luke Triton!" She smacked him with a file folder.

"I was just saying!"

"I'll have you know I am a _much_ better cook than I used to be. In fact, let me prove it to you." She headed for the kitchen, doing the math in her head; she had enough pasta for two. And she had just enough of a budget to keep Luke coming here for dinner for a long, long time-- until that look began to fade from his eyes, at any rate. They ought to stick together, anyway: she'd always said so.

Luke hesitated at the window, looking out at the setting sun. "You're still an idiot," she heard him mutter, and if she didn't know what he was talking about, she knew whom he was talking _to_.

"...But a gentleman always keeps his promises," he said, even more quietly.

And Flora sighed in relief.

(~)


End file.
